


A Match Made In Hell

by Valor_Theory



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Development, Drabble, F/M, Fluff, Hancock is a sap, Hugging, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Kissing, Mild Language, Moving On, Switching persepectives, The Slog, no major plot spoilers, spoilers for Covenant quest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 09:54:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5623153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valor_Theory/pseuds/Valor_Theory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nate was her match made in heaven, charming and sweet and a doting father. But, she’s not in heaven any more. She’s knee-deep in the apocalypse, mankind’s own fabricated hell. </p><p>Maybe it's time to call up Satan and see if he has a matchmaking service. Or, she could just look to her left at her companion. She'll get there eventually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Match Made In Hell

**Author's Note:**

> Let me aggressively shove more Hancock/SS fluff down your throat. It'll be fun. I promise.

They wipe out Covenant. Valerie hadn't known she was capable, but Stockton's daughter and the holotapes and the torture has her boiling. It isn't just that though. It's the way all the stretched smiles and picket fences turn jagged and burn away. They're practically a cult. When the people of Covenant charge at her and Hancock screaming, "You ruined everything!" something lights within her.

That shoot out becomes her own personal reenactment of the bombings. Except this time, _she_ is the explosion. _She_ has the power. She can rip the earth in half if she wants, and everything frivolous and fake and pretty will break underneath her.

Hancock knocks back Penny Fitzgerald, that infuriating woman who never seemed able to do anything other than grin and pronounce, "Enjoy your stay!" like it was going out of style. Any trace of the overly-hospitable shopkeeper is gone, replaced with animalistic rage.

Penny stumbles. Without hesitation, the survivor aims her shotgun and all the frivolous and fake splatters against the concrete wall of the settlement.

"Damn, sister. You usually save those brutal headshots for the raiders. She piss you off?" She realizes the moment has passed and she's still staring at Penny's slumped form. From her side, Hancock tilts his head a bit, eyeing her with concern. "Hey, Val, you good?"

She shakes it off. "Fine. Just thinking."

"I've got some mentats for that if you want," he offers.

She shakes her head, still pulling herself from the grips of her mini episode. She can tell Hancock's not buying the act, but appreciates the way he lets it go anyway. She finishes picking through the loot on the bodies before wandering to the workshop bench.

"Hey, Hancock, you wanna help me scrap all their stuff?"

He catches the bitterness that taints her voice. Nonetheless, he throws her that lopsided grin and she feels a little more in touch with planet earth. "Done and done. I betcha you'll like breaking apart all those hotplates and telephones. I know it's a hobby of yours. A bit weird, but hey, I don't judge."

...

She's half dead the first time she calls him John.

They've been running around for a bit over a month now. PAM, from the Railroad, sent them to secure another one of her DIA caches, and of course the place was completely overrun by mutant assholes. Having completed their assignment and decorated the place with green and red like it was Christmas, they were finally leaving to report back.

The second the elevator opens, they're swarmed. Hancock forgets that the mutants have radios and can form nearly complete sentences like, "Tower attacked. Come and kill."

So, the immediate hailstorm of bullets is a bit of a surprise, but they've handled worse. He catches that steely glint in her eyes she gets when shit's about to get real; it sends a little thrill in him almost as potent as some buffout.

The other thing Hancock forgets sometimes is that this lady is genuine pre-war. Her cold precision with a gun is enough to trick him into believing that she's apocalypse born and raised. But, then she'll go and get this sincere kindness in her eyes when she's hearing the woes of everybody from Sanctuary to Quincy, and it hits him all over again that she's the sweetest killer he's ever met. She calls herself an artifact. 

She sends two assholes to the ground hard. He finishes off the one trying to snipe them from atop a truck. "Not your lucky day," he mocks.

There's a snarl behind him, then: "Shit! My leg!" One of the mutant hounds is gnashing at her, blood dripping. Swiftly, he rushes over and blasts it with his shotgun, watching it fall.

Everything goes quiet, and he gently takes her arm for inspection. She hisses in pain. Hot with hurting, the dark skin of her calf is shredded. "Those things are _annoying_ ," she grinds out. He fumbles for a blood pack, only to realize they used the last one a while ago.

"You have anything on you for this?"

She shakes her head. She's been running on sparse resources for a couple of days. A lot of their outings hadn't yielded much in the way of caps, so she’s been conservative, leaving at least a few essentials at the main settlements they frequented. "It's not that bad. I think there was a first aid box around that back room though." She prods the skin. "Shit. I hope PAM gives a decent reward. We need to stock up."

He's already around in the corner, poking around in the fading light. They need to get off the streets before it gets too dark. Hancock finally finds the box and pulls out some water and a stimpack. That's when he hears the beeping.

He pockets the goods and sprints down the hall, drawing his weapon. Already, he can hear her cursing as she scrambles to reload and aim at the suicider's hand. He sees a blur of the beeping red light far too close to where his companion is hunkered down behind the car that must have crashed into the building centuries ago. The shot goes off. She hits her mark, like she almost always does.

Everything is a cacophony of fire after that. The first explosion tears the mutant's body apart, the force of it knocking her back several feet. The second happens when the car goes off, flinging shrapnel and fire around the lobby and out into the street.

Hancock manages to duck behind the hall in time, and immediately rushes out to her after. The smoke is thick in the air.

"Hey! Val! You alright, sister?" He feels the first semblances of panic course through him like a bad hit of psycho when she's nowhere to be seen. Worried, he feels himself tighten up, his ruined flesh coiling him in knots. Where is she?

His question is answered when he hears her coughing, and a large panel of wood falls aside to reveal her.

She's a mess of bruises and blood and burns. Those big purple markings spread and make her deep caramel skin even darker. Some of her hair is singed at the ends, and she looks like she's barely holding herself awake.

The panic is still there, receding slightly, but palpable in his veins. As gently as he can, he drags her out of the debris and carries her across the street to avoid any more fires.

"Hey... John," she wheezes. He almost pauses, because she's never called him that before, and even with the grime and bruises she's striking.

Administering the stimpack, he says, "Relax there for a sec. That stuff needs a bit to kick in." She takes a deep breath and he finally sighs. A chuckle escapes him once he's sure her lungs won't give out or anything. "Damn. You're one tough lady. A bonafide badass."

That pulls a small smile from her. They wait a few minutes for her to rest, but it's getting dark out and no one wants to be caught out when a pack of ferals decides for a nightly stroll. With a grunt, she sits herself up and he slings her arm over his shoulder to get her on her feet.

"Okay, I figure we hobble over to my town within about twenty or so minutes, dope you up and get you feeling right again, and sleep this off like a bad hangover. Sound good?"

She tests her weight on her torn leg. "Yeah. I could do with a bed." She adjusts her grip on him, unflinching. He pulls her a little closer, trying to convince himself it's so she can walk easier. She looks at him with that out-of-time sincerity. "Thanks, John."

He takes a step. "Hey, for you? Anytime."

...

Hancock should really know better. All this want and aching in his chest had to stop. He was watching her run around the latest settlement they'd assisted, scrapping everything useful in sight. Val seemed especially determined to make sure these people were safe. She took a liking to the ringleader, Wiseman, and the funny toy-guy named Arlen.

A small little sigh escapes him as she talks with Jones about where the best position for a turret is. Quietly, a ghoul slides next to him on the bench overlooking the pool.

"Can I help you with something?" It's that woman, Holly, the one who flirted with Valerie the other day.

She laughs a bit, voice raspy. "Easy there, tiger. Just wanted to apologize for the other day."

He quirks what used to be his brow at her. "What do you mean? I usually keep decent tabs on people who piss me off, so I was either too high to remember or you're mistaken."

Undeterred, Holly waves him off. "If I'd paid enough attention to notice you making googly eyes at her, I wouldn't have made a move." Suddenly, Hancock's collar is way too tight. "Oh, don't be so bashful now, honey," she teases before he can get out a word. "I can _relate_ ; nothing to be embarrassed about. After all, _I'm_ the one who got turned down, not you. And she even said she could see herself with a ghoul one day, so I'd say you've got a better chance than I'll ever have."

He resigns himself at this point, itching for a fix of jet. He laughs a bit, low and sarcastic. "Alright, lady. Let's say you're right. Out of every ghoul in the Commonwealth, I've got an itty bitty chance. But you heard it yourself. She's searching for her kid and mourning her more or less recently axed husband. Now, I've done some downright shitty things in my life. Hitting on a just-named widow? With a missing kid? Nah, that kind of shit's just below my moral standard."

Holly purses her withered lips at him. "That's why you give it some time, smartass. If it's worth it, you wait a little. I know that's kinda weird coming from me when I'm usually so forward, but I mean it. C'mon. I'm a real romantic here. I'd love to see it work out for you. Would give me a lot of hope."

He adjusts his hat. "Sorry to rain on your parade there, sweetheart. But even if she does get over the guy, she's got a whole platoon of pretty smooth-skins ready to drop everything for her just as quick as me. The only ones I wouldn't have to worry about are the robots, the fucking mutant, and the dog. Now, I appreciate the thought and all, but I think you're looking to hang your hopes and shit on the wrong guy."

Standing, Holly huffs stubbornly and crosses her arms. "I don't buy it. I've got an instinct about these kind of things. I'm keeping an eye out, you hear?"

Hancock scoffs. "Whatever you want, lady. Just be a dear and keep this to yourself?"

"Like I'd kiss and tell."

When she finally leaves, he sighs louder than before. A quick huff of jet should have settled his nerves, but instead it only lets him linger longer on his companion bustling about. Still beautiful in slow motion.

"Hey, Hancock. Ready to take out some raiders?"

He's completely screwed.

…

It kind of terrifies her, how quickly she’s getting adjusted. It’s been, what? Six months according to her Pipboy. It didn’t seem like a lot, but it felt like it was ages ago. She keeps the wedding rings in her pocket, and they mean something to her, really. Nate was her match made in heaven, charming and sweet and a doting father. But, she’s not in heaven any more. She’s knee-deep in the apocalypse, mankind’s own fabricated hell, and if she’s really honest with herself… it’s not so bad.

Okay, so she almost dies daily, the radiation could erode her mind, and she yearns for hot water, but fuck if she isn’t free. When she crawled out of the vault, still frozen in her joints and bleary-eyed, she got to completely reinvent herself. In a lot of ways, she _had_ to. Regardless, there was a small part of her buried under the terror and sadness and grief that was eager for the opportunity. It makes her feel guilty. Lonely.

Nate was a match made in heaven. But, maybe it’s time to give Satan a ring and ask if the apocalypse comes with a dating service. Or, she could just look to her left at Hancock and admit her feelings to herself. That might be more efficient. She’s pretty short on time these days.

She sets down the wrench, armor finally adjusted correctly.

“How the hell do you know how to do all this in the first place?”

And there it is. The just slightly raspy voice that manages to make her feel like a new woman. The one that sometimes makes her forget about the rings in her pocket.

She stretches. “I took a variety of classes in college,” she replies. Val knows by the way he cocks his head and folds his arms that he still doesn’t totally know what that is. “It’s a type of school. People used to attend to learn a specific area of expertise. I went to become a lawyer. I guess it’s pretty useless now to know all the laws that don’t exist anymore.”

“So, you learned how to do this whole lawyer gig, and just said, hey, why don’t I also become a master mechanic on the side?’”

She chuckles and wipes the grease from her brow. It really just smears it. “Pretty much. Engineering was my original plan, but I found out that I liked smooth talking the jury just as much. I flipped a coin to decide.”

He shrugs off his coat, the garage of the Red Rocket uncomfortably warm. “Well, I’d offer you some mentats, but it doesn’t seem like you need ‘em. Smarty pants.”

“Hm.” She thinks about the wedding rings in her pocket. “I’m not that smart. Deacon’s fooled me more times than I can count. Recall code my ass.”

Hancock picks up on her tone shift immediately. “You alright there, sister?”

“Yeah, I just…” He never ceases to impress her. Just like that he goes from cocksure and jovial to, well, this. She doesn’t understand how a man so rough around the edges can wear such an earnest face. Puzzled, she looks as him for a moment, then pulls the rings out of her pocket. If she isn’t mistaken, his jaw tightens a little.

He leans back into the couch. “Wanna talk through it? I know you like to tackle these things sober.”

She sits next to him on the bench and holds the gold bands in her palm next to each other. “I guess I just feel guilty.”

“Guilty?”

She nods. “I mean, it really hasn’t been that long for me. And I miss him but… but I feel like I shouldn’t be, I don’t know, moving on this fast. As confusing and scary waking up to all of this was, I also saw it as this big chance to completely remake myself into whoever I wanted to be. Valerie 2.0.

“Nate wonderful for the woman from two hundred plus years ago. I’m just not that person anymore. Not even close.” She shakes her head, still bewildered even as she speaks. “That Valerie could never have killed or taken chems or survived in a wasteland. I do. Everyday. I guess what I’m trying to say is that…I every once in a while I forget my old life existed, and that feels like betraying those memories and the people I knew.”

Maybe a month ago, she’d be on the verge of tears now. It was too much change.

Her fingers clench around the rings and Hancock, for once, looks like he really doesn’t know what to say. He chews at the inside of his cheek thoughtfully before opening his mouth. “That makes sense. I mean, I think I can sort of relate. Not with all this time travel bullshit or anything, but with the changing. Like, I told you about my brother and the, uh, previous mayor of Goodneighbor. Took me a while to get used to John ‘Hancock’ instead of ‘McDonough.’ So, yeah. I think I feel you.”

She smiles a little. “Look at the two of us. All aboard the S.S. Identity Crisis.”

“Toot-toot.”

That’s when she finally starts laughing and he joins in. The rings almost seem to burn her skin, so she sets them aside and leans into him a bit. Hancock tenses slightly under her touch, but she needs the physical reassurance. “Thanks, John. Again.”

It takes him a second, but he finally wraps an arm around her. “Anytime, sister.” He’s much leaner that Nate was. She can feel the irregularities in his skin through his shirt as she hugs him.

If there was any doubt in her mind, it’s gone. The wedding rings rest next to them, not abandoned, but finally set aside where they belong.

…

He’s a ghoul of impulse. Hancock just can’t help himself at this point. The settlers thank her for saving them. She’s splattered with blood and smeared with grime; her hair is askew and her rich dark skin is covered with a sheen of sweat. She’s raw and cruel and kind and sincere and gentle. She’s a tragedy. She’s power. She’s just completely unbelievably human.

Hancock can’t really blame his tongue for jumping out of his mouth to sing her praises.

And here he is, spilling his guts. Laying himself bare for her to see everything wrong with him so that she can understand how amazing she is in comparison. But she still tells him he’s not wrong. This survivor is so honest it hurts him a little.

“I don’t know if you understand what that means to me.” The sun’s coming down fast behind them. “So, lemme get to the point. Throwing in with you has been the best decision I’ve ever made. It’s like I found a part of myself I never realized was missing… which happens sometimes when you’re a ghoul.” He feels incredibly safe with her. “You have been one hell of a friend.”

There. He’s done. It’s not everything he has to say about her, but it relieved some of the pressure in his esophagus. At least he’s let her know he really cares.

It’s then that he realizes that she hasn’t said anything yet. She’s biting her lip. Uncertain is not a look she normally wears and it’s starting to worry him. Was that too much?

Seemingly having come to a conclusion, Val meets his gaze head on. “Have you ever thought about us as maybe more than just friends?”

All of a sudden the world slams to a halt, slows down harder than on any hit of jet he’s ever taken. Hancock blinks and for a moment he wonders if he’s finally gone feral because madness has to be the only explanation for this. And yet, she’s bearing down on him with that sincere look in her eyes. It’s not a joke. It’s for real.

Well damn.

Somehow he finds his voice and connects it to the remaining parts of his brain that can still function.

“Heh. It that obvious? But come on. You don’t want to wake up to this mug every morning. Never wish that on someone I cared for.”

Hancock, despite it all, still considers some part of him to be a gentleman. So, he has to give her an out. He’s certain that if she thinks about it long and hard, she’ll realize it’s just the chems or being lonely or that last raider gave her a concussion.

But she blows it all right out of the water. Of course she does, because she’s confident and bold and sure of herself even when she’s the most out-of-place thing in the whole Commonwealth.

At this point, he figures it’s better to just trust her on this one.

“Come on, love. Let’s get this freak show on the road.”

…

Hancock is her match made in hell. She doesn’t need Satan to tell her that. Nothing about them is normal or frivolous or heavenly. Nothing about the way they can tear into dozens of people and laugh over a beer afterwards is pretty. He’s right when he says they’re a freak show, and she loves every second of it. It where this new version of her belongs. It’s real and honest.

She puts her wedding rings in a little box and leaves them in her old house. When she gets back to the Red Rocket Station, they kiss until they have to leave on their next mission.


End file.
